


It's A Compliment!

by Devereauxs_Disease



Series: Vocabulary Lessons [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Crack, Fluff, M/M, Sensitive Cannibals, Will tries to compliment Hannibal, southern slang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-03
Updated: 2016-08-03
Packaged: 2018-07-29 04:41:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7670506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Devereauxs_Disease/pseuds/Devereauxs_Disease
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will tries to compliment his gorgeous murder husband. It does not go well...</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's A Compliment!

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Это комплимент!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10397793) by [LarryD](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LarryD/pseuds/LarryD)



> An Anon on Tumblr prompted a sequel to my Vocabulary Lesson story. I hope they enjoy!

         Will had known when they bought the house that the roof only had a couple of years left, maybe five if they were lucky.

         They weren’t.

         The first set of summer storms hit hard that year. Rain pummeled the weak spots between damaged shingles, wind ripping at them until they were more of a suggestion than an actual covering for their home. 

         One night, only a few months after they moved in, Will arched his back as he worked himself over Hannibal, looking up just in time to see the crack in the ceiling grow wide. Will managed to roll them just in time for the sopping plaster and shingles to hit the bed and not Hannibal.

         They probably should have stopped and set about performing damage control then. But Hannibal had smiled at Will, hair soaked with rainwater and flecks of plaster, whispered  _my hero,_ and attacked Will’s neck with sucking bites. By the time they were spent and mouthing sloppy kisses along each other’s jaws, the antique bed, linens, and a good section of the floor were ruined.

         The first few days after the roof incident Hannibal busied himself moving them into the guest room and shopping for a new, even more opulent bed. Will had raised an eyebrow at the four-post, hand-carved frame Hannibal showed him, but a few kisses and whispers about the posts being sturdy enough for tying had convinced Will that it was an excellent investment piece.

         While Hannibal was busy nesting in the guest room, Will spent his days saving the waterlogged nest they had. First, by stringing a tarp over the hole in their ceiling and shopping for shingles that would match the non-damaged sections of the roof. He had finished the interior work, hindered slightly by Hannibal’s habit of wandering into the room, raking his eyes over Will’s plaster-speckled form, and asking his handyman to please help him with a project in the bedroom. A one week job took a two weeks, but Will could only smile when he thought of all the delays.

         Now, as he sweated on the roof, Will missed the days of plaster work and Hannibal’s seeking mouth. Footsteps broke him from his reverie. There stood Hannibal in obscenely tight jeans and a ragged t-shirt, holding a hammer.

         “How may I help?”

         “First, you can tell me who dressed you like a human being. Does Gucci have a peasant line?”

         “I purchased these from the local thrift store for a handful of pesos,” Hannibal crouched next to Will, offering a small smile. “So you could say they’re from the Graham Collection.”

         Will rolled his eyes and shoved Hannibal, forcing the cannibal to land on his ass with a thud. The smug bastard would find the only pair of second hand jeans that fit like they were painted on.

         “Well, if you don’t mind getting these dirty, I suppose you could help me nail the rest of the shingles.”

         “I’m always happy to help you with nailing, Will.” Hannibal leaned toward the empath. Will held up the hammer in warning.

          “Look, that shit is only cute when we’re not on a roof.” Will reprimanded. Hannibal held his hands up in surrender. “It’d be an awful shame to survive like eight attempted murders only to die because you tried to blow me on loose shingles.”

         Hannibal nodded.

         “I will reserve all pounding for the roof.” A smile crinkled his eyes even as his mouth firmed into a serious line.

         “Im-fucking-possible.” Will swooped forward, pecking Hannibal on the nose before tossing him a shingle.

         They worked in silence for an hour, the sun beating on them, their hammers beating on the roof. Will hated to admit it, but Hannibal was annoyingly a pretty fair carpenter, his lines straight and fastenings precise.

         Wiping the sweat from his brow, Will stood and stretched. It was time to get another pallet of shingles and perhaps some water. Will carried the next batch of shingles up the ladder, two frosty bottles of water tucked into the cargo pockets of his pants. He crested the roof just in time to see Hannibal stand, arch his back under the sun and peel off his shirt. His skin glistened with sweat, the powerful muscles of his back and shoulders pulling and bunching as the scrap of cloth dragged over his body. The jeans sunk low on Hannibal’s hips offering Will a glimpse of the two divots low on Hannibal’s back. The divots that perfectly fit Will’s thumbs whenever he gripped at Hannibal’s hips from behind. 

         A small strangled noise ripped from Will’s throat as all the blood rushed from his head. Hannibal turned, which only made things worse. Sweat trickled down Hannibal’s neck, nestling into his thatch of chest hair. His stomach, just a little soft in the middle, heaved with exertion showing the powerful muscles that lurked just below Will’s favorite pillow. Hannibal tracked Will’s eyes, a smug smile playing at his lips.

         “Jesus,” Will breathed. “You’re built like a brick shithouse.”

         Hannibal’s lip pulled into a sneer, all the warmth falling out of his eyes.

         “Pardon me?”

         Will’s mouth fell open, his brow quirking. Against his better judgement he scrambled the rest of the way onto the roof and moved toward Hannibal. Looking at the stiff set of Hannibal’s shoulders, he figured he had about a 70/40 chance of being tossed off a roof.

         “Ok, that probably sounded bad, but I swear it’s a compliment.”

         Hannibal dropped the hammer in his hand – that was encouraging.

         “Ah yes, who doesn’t dream of being compared to a place where someone named Billy Bob goes to relieve himself?” Hannibal’s tone was pure ice.

         “Ok, but see…a _brick_ shithouse is something beautiful.” He reached out a hand to Hannibal and was immediately denied as the cannibal yanked his shirt back over his head. “Most outhouses are clapboard, and rattle in the wind. A brick shithouse-”

         Hannibal’s hand was in Will’s face, rigid finger pointing at Will’s nose.

         “Please refrain from complimenting me any further, Will.” Hannibal snapped. “I think I’m going to retire, as I’m sure you know shithouses begin to smell if they’re in the sun too long.”

         “Jesus, it’s a common expression!” Will shouted at Hannibal’s retreating back. “WIKIPEDIA IT! Hannibal? COME ON!”

         Hannibal fixed Will with a steely gaze.

         “While I’m familiar with the colorful language of the South I can’t seem to remember reading that particular phrase in any of my copies of Tennessee Williams.” Hannibal descended on the ladder, all righteous grace. Before lowering from view, he paused. “You really shouldn’t sleep next to a privy. I shall be sure to leave your pillow in the den, I’m sure Lourdes won’t mind sharing her cushion.”

         “For Christ’s Sake, Hannibal-” But the man in question was gone. Will flopped to the roof and resumed his work, hammering with a bit more force than strictly necessary. “Goddamn prissy people eater. **_*bang*_ ** It was a fucking compliment. **_*bang*_** Just means he’s sturdy. **_*bang*_** and fuckable ** _*bang*_ ** and now I’m sleeping with the fucking dog. **_*bang bang bang*_** ”

         When Will got back into the house, he was sunburned, tired, and pretty fucking pissed. He poked his head in the den to find Lourdes resting her long snoot on his pillow, snoring delicately. He pulled the pillow gently from beneath the dog’s head, trying to figure out whether or not he should use the down-filled sack to smother Hannibal once and for all.

         Ascending the stairs to the guest room, Will paused when he saw steam coming from a crack in the hall bathroom door. Will kicked off his shoes, dropped the pillow, and glided on sock-clad feet to the door, silently pressing it open a few inches.

         There stood Hannibal, toweling off his hair and glaring at his middle. Flicking his head to send his wet bangs backward, Hannibal took the towel to the mirror. He angled himself in the reflection, sucking in his stomach, twisting to minimize his waist. Will felt a small tug in his chest, a swell of overwhelming love for the dangerous ninny who was trying to look skinnier in the mirror.

         Will slapped the door with the palm of his hand, forcing it to bang open. Hannibal was too practiced in defense to startle, but his whole body tensed, a sure enough sign he hadn’t noticed Will watching. The empath crowded Hannibal into the sink, his hand going to Hannibal’s lips to silence whatever vaguely poetic nonsense the doctor could come up with.

         “I misspoke earlier.” Will started, letting the hand on Hannibal’s lips slip to grip firmly at the doctor’s chin. “You are built like Brunelleschi’s Dome.”

         Hannibal huffed, but made no move to shake Will off. Will’s hand slid to Hannibal’s chest, kneading the strong pecs through the damp chest hair. He pressed a kiss to Hannibal’s heart.

         “You’re built like Baptistery of San Giovanni.” Another kiss, and now both hands were on Hannibal’s stomach. The doctor tried to clench his abs, but Will poked him, dropping to his knees to press his face into the tummy.

         “You,” his tongue flicked into Hannibal’s bellybutton, “are built like Palazzo Della Gherardesca.”

         Will looked up as he pressed another kiss into his love’s stomach. The doctor’s eyes were soft, a hand tangled into Will’s sweaty hair, pulling affectionately on the curls. Will nipped at the round of flesh just below Hannibal’s bellybutton.

         Something firm brushed just under Will’s chin, making the empath smile. He pulled away from Hannibal, eyeing the flush cock that curved toward the doctor’s stomach.

         “Would you look at that?” Will said, pressing a sucking kiss to the tip of Hannibal’s cock and raising an eyebrow. “You’re also built like the Leaning Tower of Pisa.”

         Hannibal’s laugh turned into a moan. 


End file.
